


Is It Cool If I Hold Your Hand?

by EmissaryforBrows



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco has an owl named Scooby, Established Relationship, First Date, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25040623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmissaryforBrows/pseuds/EmissaryforBrows
Summary: Ron and Draco have been shagging for a while now, but tonight is their first official date. If only Ron can find something to wear.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 87





	Is It Cool If I Hold Your Hand?

**Author's Note:**

> This is not betaed. All mistakes are my own since this was written in less than an hour cause I felt like writing something fluffy. Title comes from Blink 182's "First Date" because I'm still stuck in the early 2000s. It was better then.
> 
> All characters and whatnot belong to J.K. Rowling and not me. Whomp whomp.

Ron apparently does not own a single piece of decent clothing that isn’t either red or orange. This wouldn’t be a big deal, Ron loves those colors, but his date for tonight explicitly said no clothes colored anywhere near the spectrum of his hair. Ron was offended, but then there was a really hot, wet mouth on his cock, so he’s not exactly sure how that conversation ended.

Nevertheless, Ron begged off work early—guh, the endless teasing from George better be worth it—and is now staring into a closet that could very well be a roaring fire if you squint your eyes and stand far enough back. His boyfriend—fingers crossed that word becomes accurate by the end of tonight—has many a time glanced into Ron’s closet and overdramatically screamed that his eyes were literally burning.

Squinting his eyes, Ron is starting to wonder if that statement isn’t as overdramatic as he initially thought.

Ron dives into his closet, something he did not expect to be doing today, and pushes hangers left and right frantically. Did George spell all his clothes red and orange or something? There used to be greens and blues in here once upon a time!

“Aha!” Ron cries in relief upon unearthing a baby blue jumper from under his old Auror training gear in the back corner of his closet.

He holds up the jumper and frowns. It definitely used to be bigger. Was that growth spurt a year and a half ago really that significant?

“You’re a bloody wizard, Ron, just spell it up a couple sizes,” Ron mutters to himself, pulling his wand out of his back pocket. He waves his wand and the most unfortunate thing occurs.

The shirt shrinks.

“Bollocks!” Ron yells and throws the jumper on the ground.

He raises his wand to incendio the bloody jumper when something scratches at his bedroom window. He waves his wand to open the window and in flies a very familiar owl with a parcel tied to his leg.

“Your master is a untrusting pillock,” Ron tells the owl, ironically named Scooby because of his master’s obsession with the muggle cartoon and Ron’s obsession with annoying Scooby’s master, and strokes his head. Scooby purrs while Ron unties the parcel from his leg and enlarges it.

Scooby scampers over to his treat bowl once the parcel is gone from his leg and cocks his head expectantly at Ron. Ron sighs and pours Scooby a few treats from the box of expensive, French, artisanal, handmade owl treats.

“You are just as spoiled and high maintenance as your master, aren’t you, Scooby?” Ron asks the owl in the same voice he uses with tiny humans and really cute crups.

Scooby chirps happily and digs into his treats. Ron turns his attention to the unwanted—and honestly kind of expected—parcel.

The note attached is short and succinct:  
_Because you’re hopeless. –D  
P.S. Don’t be late!_

Ron opens the parcel and what’s inside is rich, navy blue and impossibly soft and even more impossibly expensive no doubt. It also looks bloody good on Ron.

“Remind me again why I’m going through with this, Scooby?” Ron asks the owl when the last treat is gobbled down.

Scooby chirps.

“You’re right,” Ron sighs, pulling on the rest of his outfit for tonight. “He’s bloody brilliant in bed, and our secret relationship hasn’t been secret in months. We mutually decided to take the next step, but why did I let your master plan the date? I would have been just fine with dinner at the Leaky.”

Scooby chirps a couple more times in what Ron could only describe as a sassy manner.

“Yes, I know. I just mentioned how high maintenance he is but—“ Ron starts but is interrupted by an angry chirp. He sighs. “I know, I know. And I agree, Scooby. He’s worth it.”

Ron throws a few spells at his hair before looking at himself in his mirror. That blue jumper looks good paired with Ron’s tightest denims and black, dragonhide boots that Charlie got him last Christmas.

“How do I look, Scooby?” Ron asks, turned to the owl for the final approval.

Scooby spins and chirps brightly.

+++

In a wildly unexpected turn of events that no one saw coming whatsoever; Ron is indeed late.

Ron is flushed and annoyed when the waitress guides him to his table and he takes a seat across from his date for the evening, who appears to be three glasses of wine into his evening already.

“Bloody hell,” Ron grumbles. “Do you know how many restaurants have names similar to this one? I must have flooed to at least five before someone explained how to pronounce the name of this bloody place.”

Ron’s date snickers into his wine glass, and Ron glares knowingly into mischievous grey eyes.

“You planned for this, didn’t you?”

A full-bellied laugh erupted from his date. “You make it so easy!”

“Bloody hell, Draco! Does George give you tips, or are you just naturally this devious?”

“You can’t tell me you expected any less a Slytherin. And besides, George and I’s relationship is more give and take. He tells me you have no idea how to pronounce French words, and I tell him about the atrocity that is your closet.”

“I knew I owned more blue and green than that. You all double-teamed me, now is that it?”

“Oh baby, we might have, but I promise you it’ll be just you and me tonight,” Draco says with a wink.

Ron chuckles and reaches across the table to lace his fingers with Draco’s. “So long as it stays just the two of us, I’m fine with you and my family getting along so well.”

“Well now that you bring it up, I was thinking of us maybe transitioning to a little bit of a ménage à trois if you’re up to it.” Draco smirks.

Ron tightens his grip on Draco’s hand. “I might not know how to speak French, but I know what that bloody well means, Draco, and hell no. We are not having a threesome with George, or anyone else for that matter. I don’t like to share.”

“Oh, baby. I love it when you get all possessive and caveman on me.”

“Mine,” Ron grunts in his best imitation of a proper caveman.

Draco laughs brightly, and Ron can’t stop the dumb grin that spreads across his face at the sound. 

“Good evening, gentleman,” a willowy, female waitress says. “Are you ready to order, or would you all like a few more minutes.”

“Actually, we’ll take the check,” Draco says, smiling up at the confused waitress.

“Oh, okay. I’m so sorry to hear that. Is our service not to your liking?” she asks.

“No, it was wonderful. Your wine selection is sublime; that’s why I chose here to wait for my date. He’s always running late, you see, but we have dinner plans elsewhere.”

“We do?” Ron asks, and Draco winks at him.

“Very well then, I’ll go get your check right away,” the waitress says before turning from the table.

“If we’re not eating here, then why are we here, Draco?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said the wine selection here is superb. The food, however, is a bit too posh for my current palate.”

Ron smirks, knowing that Draco’s palate used to consist solely of this sort of posh food before they started hooking up.

“And what does your current palate desire?”

“I was thinking something more along the lines of the Leaky, perhaps?”

“It’s like you can read my mind.”

“Oh, gross, Weasel. No one wants that curse.”

“Are you sure about that, Ferret? I think you would be quite interested in knowing all the things I’m planning to do to you tonight.”

Draco shivers and huffs, his grey eyes darkening slightly. “Well if somebody hadn’t insisted that we start going steady and public, then we could be enacting all your dirty imaginings right now.”

“Oh I’m the one who insisted?”

“Maybe not you exactly, but your friends and family certainly pulled your leg out of it’s socket.”

“Like Pansy and Blaise didn’t pull yours,” Ron responds.

“They’re all terrible. The lot of them. We had a good thing going.”

“Yes well, now it won’t be so weird when they come over to our flat or when I bring you to the Burrow for Christmas.”

“Our flat?” Draco asks hopefully.

Ron reaches into his back pocket and slides a key across the table to Draco.

“If you’d like. I know you love the view from the bedroom.”

“It’s a really lovely view.”

“So that’s a yes?”

Draco turns the key around and around in his hands while he ponders his answer. “I suppose my lease is up soon.”

Ron grins. “No, it’s not.”

Draco smirks back. “No, it really isn’t, but I’ll figure out how to break it.”

“Your check,” the waitress from before says snootily. “I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your evening.”

Draco throws down too much money for his three glasses of wine before standing up and pulling on his jacket. Ron follows suit, and then holds Draco’s hand as they exit the French restaurant.

“To the Leaky?” Ron asks out on the street.

“Actually,” Draco says, stepping close to Ron and running his hands up Ron’s sides and chest till he reaches Ron’s shoulders. “Why don’t we grab some take-out and go christen our flat.”

“I’m pretty sure there isn’t a single spot in that flat we haven’t christened yet it one way or another, but I’m game.”

Draco smiles and wraps his arms around Ron’s neck. With a crack, they disapparate.


End file.
